Taking a Toss 



hounds through the Upper Wood he is sure to break his 

 leg in some rabbit burrow; the first barbed wire fence 

 he encounters will cut him to pieces, and there is tarred 

 road somewhere near, with a ghastly drop. He has 

 probably jumped on to it and broken his neck. 



Sorry, Challenger, boy ! Sympathy is a fine lot of 

 good to a murdered horse ! Compelled to jump a 

 colossal wall when every sane person rode towards the 

 gate. How people would talk later ! Senseless, head- 

 strong, foolish oh, endless employment of bitter, but 

 justified adjectives. And here is their overwrought 

 recipient trudging achingly towards the nearest farm- 

 house; a stinging pain in the neck and shoulders, the 

 loam of half a parish on his clothing. " God help you, 

 sir, did you fall ? " asks a labourer good-naturedly. In 

 one's present condition one feels like answering peevishly 

 that one was run over by a bicycle. The seemingly 

 stupid question does not merit such rude response, for 

 its tone implies a sympathetic enquiry if one is hurt. 

 * You may take things easy, sir. I think they have 

 killed him behind the wood. I told my gossoon, Jamesy, 

 to fetch your horse, an' he should be back any minute." 



This was reassuring news which helped to dispel a 

 nightmare that was rapidly running amok. Much to 

 one's astonishment and relief, Challenger's only injury 

 is a bleeding, but superficial over-reach, with its not 

 unusual accompaniment, a missing foreshoe. " Sure 

 there could be nothing wrong with his knees," said 

 Jamesy's father, re-corking the bottle of disinfectant. 

 " He never touched the wall. 'Twas the soft landing 

 tumbled him : an old spring it is had you taken the 



63 



